


Grata Domum

by onlyastoryteller



Series: Potestas et Virtus [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Established Relationship, M/M, Palace Intrigue, Sequel, fight sequence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: Several years after the Gladiator Uprising, King Timothée reigns over a kingdom living in tentative peace. But threats loom, and only the Queen can soothe his troubled mind.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Potestas et Virtus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881586
Comments: 39
Kudos: 143





	Grata Domum

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming. I know I promised it back in June, as part of the Fandom Activist Coalition’s drive for Black Lives Matter, and I’m sorry for the delay.
> 
> I finally figured out what I wanted to do with this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved being back with these two boys again.
> 
> 100% fiction, of course.

Timmy stared into the crackling fire, watching the blue synthetic flames flicker from azure to sapphire as they reached up into the chimney. His mind sifted through the information he had just been given. It was alarming, to say the least, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. There was one person he’d like to talk to...but that would have to wait. And he wasn’t sure how much time they had. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to do, sir?”

Tearing his gaze away from the fire, Timmy smiled at the young redhead seated at the table beside him and shook his head.

“That’ll be all, thank you. Have a good night, Billy. Tell your father hello for me.”

Billy nodded and got to his feet. He tucked his notebook under his arm and his pen behind his ear. “Thank you, sir. He always asks about you.”

Timmy stood as well and smiled at the thought of the older man, with his gruff manner and wry grin. “He should come to the palace. We’d love to see him, and it’s been too long. I’ll send an invitation for dinner next week.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight.” Billy exited the room through the double doors to the main hall, and Timmy sighed. He stretched his arms over his head, groaning as his back cracked. He was too young for creaking bones. 

“Who are we inviting for dinner?”

The voice came from behind, near the rear entrance to his chambers, the one that led to the Queen’s Suite. Tension seeped out of Timmy’s shoulders at the sound, and he turned to see his husband striding into the room. 

He’d watched this man walk into rooms for more than five years now, and he wasn’t sure he'd ever get used to it. It wasn’t Armie’s height, or the breadth of his shoulders, or the length of his stride. It wasn’t the way he had an unexpected grace of movement for a man his size. It wasn’t his face, sculpted and symmetrical, or his piercing blue eyes, or the way those eyes seemed to see everything. 

It was none of that, and it was all of it...plus the fact that Armie was _his_.

“Joel,” he replied, answering Armie’s question. He smiled, tilted his head to the side. “I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow.”

“We made good time,” Armie said. Instead of crossing all the way across the giant room to where Timmy was standing, Armie stopped when he reached the bed, leaning up against the massive bedpost and folding his arms across his chest. “Well...I _made_ us make good time.”

“Missed the kitchen staff, did you?” Timmy asked with a smirk. 

“You know it.”

“Trouble on the line?” Timmy asked. Armie had spent the past month out at one of the borders that had been giving them trouble. Ever since he’d reclaimed Crema, abolished the Emperor's Arena System, and built a new society, the surrounding kingdoms had been making moves, hoping to prey upon the vulnerability of a young government and a people tired from a period of upheaval. 

He understood why Armie was keeping his distance. He could see it in Armie’s eyes, even from here, the stress he was carrying. It was probably comparable to the stress Timmy himself was feeling, which was preventing him from closing the distance as well. Neither of them wanted to make the other’s burden worse. 

“Not much,” Armie said, in a too-light tone that made Timmy sure he was minimizing it. He pushed away from the bedpost and strolled over to the fireplace. He clasped his hands behind his back, staring into the flames as Timmy had done just a few minutes earlier. 

He was tired. Timmy could tell by the way his shoulders hunched forward slightly, by the lines of strain visible around his eyes, by the roughness of his voice. His beard was bushier than usual, a sure sign that he’d been neglecting his personal needs. The glow from the fire gave his features a bluish tinge that intensified the appearance of exhaustion. 

Timmy wanted to take that exhaustion away, if he could. He wanted to run across the room, wanted to tackle Armie onto that massive bed, wanted to massage his undoubtedly sore muscles and end up wrapped in his arms...and yet, there was something else he needed first. It was selfish. It was necessary, if either of them were going to shake off the weight on their shoulders enough to just _be_ the way they needed to be after weeks apart. 

“Are you dead on your feet?” he asked. 

“Depends on why you’re asking.”

“I could use a turn on the field.”

Armie glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “It’s been raining for hours.”

“So?” Timmy shrugged. “Since when are you afraid of a little water and some mud?”

“That bad?” The concern was evident in Armie’s voice. 

Timmy hesitated, and then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go, then. I’ll change and meet you out there.” He left the comfort of the fire and crossed back to the door separating their suites, and Timmy felt a swell of love. 

There was nothing Armie wouldn’t do for him. How had he gotten so lucky?

Twenty minutes later, leather armor donned and curls tied back in a low ponytail, he was making his way out to the field. He’d had it built a couple of years earlier, an extension of the castle walls, when it became clear it was something he needed. Something they both did. It wasn’t as big as the Arena, but it didn’t need to be. It served its purpose. 

There were two guards at the door that led through to the weapons room and outside. They greeted him with tight nods and twin salutes. 

“The Queen awaits you, your highness,” said the guard on the left — Dmetri, that was his name. 

“Did he choose a weapon?” Timmy asked. 

“He said for you to choose,” said the other guard, whose name Timmy didn’t know. _New_. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Timmy asked. The new guard looked uncomfortable, and Timmy turned to Dmetri. “Tell me,” he said, grinning in anticipation.

Dmetri tried to hide a smirk. “His words were, ‘Tell him to bring out two of whatever he wants me to kick his ass with.’”

Timmy grinned harder. _Good_. That meant Armie was as much in a mood as he was. He nodded to the guards and pushed open the doors to the weapons room. 

He spent a few minutes considering his choices. He could go out barehanded, really set up a game of grappling and leverage. Or a dagger, something to twist and avoid but force close combat. 

In the end, he went with an old favorite: the gladius. 

When he stepped out into the night, his feet immediately squelched in the liquid dirt. He took a moment to breath in the cold, damp air, already anticipating the way the icy breeze would whip across his skin, drying the sweat as soon as it seeped from his pores. 

The stadium lights shone down on the grassy rectangle, illuminating the lone figure standing in the middle. Even from this distance, it was clear he was tall and strong. Timmy shivered, but not from the cold. 

He strode forward with purpose. Armie turned and watched him approach, a smile flickering across his features as he spied Timmy’s weapon of choice. 

“It stopped raining,” Timmy said. 

“It’s still misting,” said Armie. He pointed up at the lights. If Timmy squinted, he could indeed see the moisture reflecting the beams of light. 

Timmy held a gladius out towards Armie, who took it, letting their fingers brush together during the transfer. Gooseflesh sprang up along Timmy’s left arm, and he huffed out a breath. Armie caught his gaze, and then stepped back, putting a few more feet between them. 

“Three contacts or disarming?” Armie asked. 

Timmy shrugged. “Either.”

There was a long pause, as Armie swung the gladius in a wide arc at his side twice. Finally, he nodded. “Disarming, then.”

“Fine.” Timmy backed up a few steps of his own, then bounced on his toes, testing the ground beneath his feet. Soft, soggy, and slick. “I hope you’re prepared to get dirty.”

“Always.” Armie moved smoothly into a ready stance, his left foot dropping back, his knees bent, the weapon pointing up into the night. “Ready?”

“When you are.” Timmy took his own stance, held his breath. 

The silence of the night stretched around them. Inside the castle walls, the night security would be quietly patrolling, but people would be settling down. The main activity would be in the kitchens, preparing for the next day — and most likely anticipating the need for a late night snack, since word would have come down that the Queen had returned. Outside the walls, Crema would be tucking in, getting out of the wet and the cold for any evening pursuits. 

Knowing that he and Armie were alone here, without a single eye on them...the first hint of temporary peace began to descend. Now to seek the rest. 

Armie’s first move was to Timmy’s left, feet marking a grapevine path in the mud. Timmy countered right, keeping eye contact, matching his steps to Armie’s. They circled until their positions were reversed, and Timmy smiled, knowing Armie had deliberately put him in a shadow. 

He took the offered opportunity and lunged, sword jabbing towards his opponent. It was knocked easily to the side, and they spun away from each other, resetting in a new position. 

Armie moved next, swinging the gladius on the flat side towards Timmy’s knees. Timmy jumped, just barely clearing the blade, and shoved at Armie’s shoulder with his left hand. Armie took the blow and came back around, swinging the sword up in a glint of steel. 

Timmy leaned back, avoiding the blade, and then used the momentum to tuck and roll clear. He came up on his feet covered in mud, clumps of dirt clinging to his clothes and hair. He swiped a mud-slick hand over the top of his head, securing the curls that had escaped from the leather tie. He adjusted his grip on the gladius and eyed Armie. 

The man grinned at him. “You’re a mess,” he said. 

“Feels good,” Timmy said. “People pay a lot of coin for mud baths. You up for a run?”

Armie nodded. “Watch the mud. Don’t break an ankle.”

With a wink, Timmy turned and took off for the far end of the field. He didn’t look back — he didn’t have to. He knew Armie was hot on his heels. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to zig and zag like he would normally, or change direction on a dime. The ground would give way under the pressure of his boots. 

Instead, he slid to a stop, tucking into a crouch and ducking his head. Behind him, Armie cursed, and Timmy braced himself for impact. 

When it came, it just about knocked the breath out of him. It did send him flying forward and landing face first in the dirt, and he watched as Armie tumbled over him and landed on his back. The gladius remained in his hand, clutched tightly. 

_Good_. Timmy wasn’t nearly done. 

He scrambled forward and on top of Armie, hands grabbing Armie’s forearms and shoving them into the mud. Armie was breathing hard, but his eyes were clear. 

“Surrender?” Timmy asked, knowing that would never happen...and that Armie knew that wasn’t what Timmy wanted, so would never consider it. 

“What do you think?” Armie replied. Then he heaved, and Timmy flew off of him. He managed to land on his feet and meet the blow from Armie’s gladius with his own. 

They battled in close contact for a while, the only sounds the clash of steel mingled with grunts and breathing. As the match continued across the mini-Arena and back, Timmy’s concentration narrowed to a single focal point: meeting Armie’s blows and delivering his own. 

It felt good to use his muscles like this; it had been a while. Back when they were taking back the kingdom, they were engaged in frequent conflict with Emperor loyalists and kept in top shape. As peace within the kingdom stretched on, however, Timmy found opportunities to use his skills or train few and far between. Armie was the one who periodically checked on the borders while Timmy remained in the Center, dealing with matters of state and diplomacy. 

It was nice to know he hadn’t gone soft as he’d spent more time on intellectual rather than physical pursuits of late. 

Eventually, he began to tire, an ache seeping into his shoulders and pushing out all the tension that had been building. He felt loose and relaxed, for the first time in weeks. 

Needing a different sort of exertion, he ducked a swing instead of deflecting it and jammed his shoulder into Armie’s chest. He heard an explosion of breath, and Armie staggered back a step before regaining his balance and pushing back. 

They leaned into each other such that if one stepped away, the other would fall. Their counter-force was what kept them upright, pressed together as if they were one instead of two. 

Timmy lifted his head, caught Armie’s eye. The world seemed to pause around them. The wind stopped whipping, the mist stopped swirling, the ground stopped squelching. Timmy’s lips parted. 

Both swords hit the ground with twin thuds as Armie’s mouth attacked his. Timmy grabbed at Armie’s cheeks, his fingers slipping on the sweaty surface until he gave up and hooked a hand behind Armie’s neck and pulled. Armie’s fingers worked their way into Timmy’s curls, yanking the tie free so he could twist the strands around his knuckles. 

On a growl, Armie pulled at his waist, and he stumbled forward, crashing against the man with a grunt. He angled his hips forward and moaned as Armie palmed his ass and squeezed. His chin squished against the mud in Armie’s beard and flecks of it speckled their lips, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except coming together, finally, after a month apart. 

Armie broke free first, grabbed up the two swords and then opened his free arm wide. Timmy leapt up, hooking his legs around Armie’s waist and his arms around the man’s neck. He rested his head on Armie’s shoulder and let Armie carry him across the field and back to the castle. 

In the weapons room, Armie dropped the swords onto the stone floor, where they landed with a clatter. 

Timmy latched back onto his mouth and then whispered “Hurry.”

“We should clean up,” Armie said against Timmy’s lips. 

“No,” Timmy said. 

“We’ll mess up the bed.”

“Let’s just use yours. No one sleeps in it anyway.” 

Armie laughed, and Timmy bounced against him. “As you wish, my lord,” he said, and kicked open the doors to the hall. 

They strode past Dmetri and the other guard, who stood stoically, their eyes trained carefully away from the pair. 

As Armie kissed him deeply and they moved down the hall, Timmy heard the new guard ask softly, in a bewildered voice, “Who do you think won?”

Dmetri snorted. “That’s not how it works.”

Up in the Queen’s suite, Armie hesitated in front of his unused bed. 

“You sure you don’t want to clean up first?” he asked. 

“Just do it,” Timmy said. “I don’t want to wait for—“

He yelped as Armie tossed him onto the mattress. Then he watched, licking his lips, as his husband methodically removed his own armor, setting it to the side in a pile. Next went the tunic, and then his mud-caked boots, then the pants, and finally Armie was standing naked before him. 

“Your turn,” Armie said, grinning, his eyes dark and mischievous. 

The next ten minutes were excruciating as Armie slowly peeled the layers off of him. It took too long, but whenever he tried to complain, Armie silenced him with his tongue. He began to whine just to get kissed, but Armie was aware of the game and eventually just tore the rest of his clothes away, leaving him panting. 

“Armie,” Timmy said. “I need—“

That was all he needed to say, and Armie was on him, their legs tangling together and their mouths biting at anything they could reach. The lights burned bright — they rarely made love in the dark, now that they didn’t have to — and Timmy drank in his fill of the man who had chosen him, all bronzed muscles and lean lines and golden hair. 

Yeah, he was fucking lucky, that was for sure. 

When they finally joined, the world paused again, and they stilled with it, gripping each other and breathing into each other’s skin. 

“I missed you,” Armie said. 

“I missed you, too.” Timmy turned his head and found Armie’s mouth again as they began to move, establishing a familiar rhythm that still felt fresh after all these years. 

After, they transitioned to the suite’s bathroom and scrubbed each clean under the gleaming shower heads and scented spray. 

“Why is your bathroom better than mine?” Timmy asked, inhaling the steam around him. 

“Because I’m the Queen,” Armie replied. “I deserve to be pampered.”

Timmy giggled and poured more liquid soap on Armie’s chest, intending to do just that. 

Armie let Timmy shave his beard, and he did so meticulously, making sure to remove every hair but not nick his skin. When he was done, he traced his fingers over the soft skin and smiled. 

“There you are,” he said, and Armie smiled back. 

Once they were wrapped in each other and the fluffy coverings back in Timmy’s suite, Armie sighed with contentment. 

“Feel better?” Timmy asked. 

“Much. You?”

“Yeah. We should sleep.”

Armie nuzzled into the juncture of Timmy’s neck and shoulder. “Can we sleep in tomorrow?”

“We have a meeting at ten,” Timmy said. 

“We?”

“Well, it was me, but now that you’re back...we.”

“Okay.” Armie places a series of light kisses on Timmy’s neck, and he angled his head to the side to give Armie better access. “What’s it about?”

Timmy frowned. “The thing that had me all wound up when you got back,” he said. 

“Hmm. Can you sleep, or do you need to talk about it?” Armie stopped his distracting nuzzling and rested his head on the pillow. 

“One of the spies from Bergamo arrived yesterday,” Timmy began. Bergamo was the Kingdom to the north, whose border Armie had been policing for the last month. Its ruling family had been in cooperation with the Emperor, and had been making low level threats to Crema since the reclamation. These threats had increased recently. 

“What’s the news?” Armie asked. 

“There’s a woman. She’s being courted by Bergamo’s Prince, the successor.” Timmy squirmed in Armie’s grip, and Armie held on tight until he settled again. “The spy said she’s likely to become the new Princess.”

There’s a long beat. “I’m getting the sense we care about this, and not because we’ve got a thing for the Prince,” Armie said. 

“It might be nothing. She might be no one,” Timmy said. “We don’t have anything definitive, just some murmurings and a...photo.”

“Timmy?” Armie asked. “Who is she?”

“There’s a...possibility,” Timmy said. “It’s probably not true, but it’s maybe possible.”

“Possibility of what?” Armie was tense now, and Timmy burrowed closer. 

He spoke the next words into Armie’s chest, almost afraid to say them out loud. Whether out of fear they were true or were false, he wasn’t sure. “We think there’s a chance she’s...Pauline.”

“Your sister? I thought she—“

“We all did. That was the story. But you know, it’s possible. If it _is_ her, she might not even know.“

“Well, fuck,” Armie said. “If that asshole marries her—“

“He could make a legitimate claim to Crema. Yeah.” The coldness Timmy had felt since he’d spoken with the spy earlier that day crept back in. “And Bergamo, it’s...it’s like Crema _was._ With the classes, and the Arena, and everything.”

“How are you feeling about the fact that your sister might be out there?” Armie asked. 

“I don’t know,” Timmy said. “I’ve been too afraid to ask myself that question.”

“And it might not be her,” Armie acknowledged. 

“Right. I don’t want to...get my hopes up.”

A long pause. 

“You want me to go check it out?” Armie asked quietly. 

He didn’t. He didn’t want Armie anywhere near this, because it was too dangerous. He didn’t want Armie to leave again, so soon, though this couldn’t be delayed. And yet…

“I think I need to be a part of it, too,” he said, after a minute. 

Armie didn’t speak right away, and Timmy waited. Eventually, he sighed. “It’s risky,” he said. “Both if you get caught, and if word gets out you’re not here.”

“I know.”

Armie shifted and kissed Timmy’s lips softly. “I’ll follow wherever you lead, then.”

“Not in public, you won’t,” Timmy said. “If I go I’ll need to be a nobody to the outside world. This time I’ll follow where you lead.”

“Ah, so back to the old days.” Armie’s fingers worked their way into Timmy’s side and he gasped, twisting away from them. Then Armie smoothed a palm over the tickled spot, and Timmy relaxed. 

“In private I’m still your King,” Timmy said, “and don’t you forget it.”

“In private you’re still my little slug,” Armie said. He pulled Timmy closer. “Let’s sleep a while. We’ll figure out the details in the morning.”

“We’ll have to pull this together fast. I’m sorry you can’t rest longer,” Timmy said, feeling the regret bubble up. Sometimes he wished they could just run away, live anonymous lives that didn’t require them to lead an entire people. Then he’d remember how they met, and what Crema had been like...and he knew they could never make another choice. 

“This time you’ll be with me,” Armie murmured. “That’s just as good as being home.”

“Well then,” Timmy said, with a contented smile, “welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> The answer to your question is: _maybe_


End file.
